


Close Your Eyes and Don't Let Go

by Zai42



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26058181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: The first time Grizzop hauls himself into Wilde’s lap, he freezes.Sequel to Other People's Tragedies.
Relationships: Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	Close Your Eyes and Don't Let Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miri1984](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/gifts).



Grizzop isn’t sleeping. He hides it well enough, and it reminds Wilde of a feral cat, the way he hides his hurt until he can’t anymore. He relinquishes his place by the fire easily enough, makes a show of tucking himself into his bedroll, and lies in the dark with his eyes open, his bow within reach. Every night, no matter which watch he takes. Wilde imagines he must doze off just by virtue of being mortal, but he has yet to see it happen, and Grizzop rises with the dawn every morning, never once complaining.

If the others notice, they seem to have accepted that it’s best not to bring it up, but Wilde has never met a wasp’s nest he hasn’t wanted to kick, so he volunteers to take first watch that night.

He wakes Grizzop for his watch and sets up his bedroll pointedly close by, and when Sasha relieves Grizzop, Wilde watches as Grizzop notices him and hesitates, then eases himself down to lie on his side, eyes reflecting the firelight as they narrow in suspicion. 

“Nightmares?” Wilde murmurs.

Grizzop glances over at Sasha, stretching herself into wakefulness by the fire, and inches closer. “No,” he says shortly. “You should sleep.” He puts his hand on the earth between them.

Wilde folds his own hand over it. “So should you,” he replies. Grizzop breaks eye contact to look at their hands, folded in the dirt. He nods; he doesn’t move closer, but he closes his eyes, and Wilde holds his hand and watches until his breathing evens out. He’s still there when Azu nudges them both awake in the morning.

* * *

They hover around each other. There are moments - stolen kisses, furtive touches, hands clasped between them as they slept - but they both sense that this thing between them is fragile, and emotions aside, the world is coming undone faster than they can fix it.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s Grizzop who pushes things forward.

The first time Grizzop hauls himself into Wilde’s lap, he freezes, hands hovering, heart racing, until Grizzop cups his face in both hands, frowning. “Wilde,” he says, and Wilde lets out a long, slow sigh. “All right?”

“I’m - fine.” Grizzop is visibly unimpressed. “You... had it worse,” Wilde forces himself to admit, and Grizzop’s eyebrows go up. “I'll live,” Wilde says, and leans in to kiss him.

Grizzop catches him with a hand on his jaw. “Don’t do that,” he snaps. “It’s not a contest.”

He slides down to the floor, pulling Wilde with him, nudging him until he’s cross-legged with Grizzop leaning over his back, pressing kisses to his neck. Wilde sighs and leans back against him, reaching to grasp one of Grizzop’s hands in his. Slowly, the memory of Grizzop bound and helpless in his lap fades, and he relaxes.

“I want...” Grizzop mumbles into the crook of Wilde’s shoulder. He slips a hand underneath Wilde’s shirt, and his palm is like a brand against his chest. He nuzzles closer, and Wilde can feel the tension in him, bowstring-tight, as be buries his face in Wilde’s neck.

Wilde tilts his head back, throat exposed. “Fuck me,” he says.

“On the floor of your office?” Grizzop asks, and there’s teasing there, masking distaste.

Wilde brings Grizzop’s hand to his lips and kisses the back of it, soft enough to be vulnerable, dramatic enough to be able to back down if he must. “Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam,” he says solemnly, “warm my bed tonight, and every night, if you wish.” And so much for backing down.

Grizzop laughs in his face, not cruelly, and kisses his forehead. “Yeah,” he says, grinning, “all right, then.”

* * *

He wakes to Grizzop watching him. The room is grey with pre-dawn light, and Grizzop is propped up on one arm, frowning down at Wilde, dark smudges under his eyes. “Been awake all night?” Wilde asks, voice rough with sleep.

“No,” Grizzop says, “not _all_ night.” And Wilde huffs a breath but doesn’t scold him, rolls over and scoops him close, nuzzling against the flat plane of his stomach. “I,” Grizzop says, then curls up around Wilde and mumbles something into the top of his head.

“Hmm?”

“Nightmares,” Grizzop rasps, and Wilde can hear the frustration in his voice, the barely-restrained swell of anger.

“You could’ve woken me.” Grizzop makes a disgusted noise. “Would you like to talk about them?”

“I would like them to _stop.”_ Grizzop goes limp in Wilde’s arms, ears flat against his skull, eyes averted. “Could you find out what’s happened?” he asks. “With the list I made. With...them.”

“Of course,” Wilde says, and shifts to get up, but Grizzop’s hold on him tightens.

“Not now,” he says. “Stay for now.”

“Of course,” Wilde says again, softer. And so he stays, and hums something quiet and unmagical, and outside the sun rises as it always does.


End file.
